Summer Meadows



Predominant hues are orange and blue

It's been a few weeks since my last posting and the weather is partly to blame, having continued cool and wet throughout May, prompting some lush growth - especially of grass and weeds.  An inordinate amount of time is spent on cutting back, mowing, strimming and pulling out weeds by the bucketful.

But then comes the spectacle of seeing our carefully nurtured canvasses come to life!  Here's a picture of the back garden which you can compare to the one I posted back in March. 

Border in early June

Foxgloves have been in flower for a couple of weeks, providing some vertical interest until the hollyhocks get going later this month. 
We've probably got three different strains of digitalis, grown from seed at different times, and although I try to place them at strategic points they're happiest growing wherever the seeds happen to fall.

Echium vulgare

Another plant which has been in bloom for some time, blissfully unaffected by wind or rain, is the wild flower known as Vipers Bugloss (Echium vulgare).  You can see it on the left of the border above and we originally found it running to seed in a roadside planting near here.  That gentian blue is certainly eyecatching, even when you're driving past at 70 kph! 

This is a robust perennial, drought-tolerant, which adds colour and architecture to the back of the border.   It mixes well with the vivid Californian poppy and the large marigolds which flower so abundantly in early summer.

 

Oenothera odorata

Yellow accents are currently provided by the evening primrose which is another prolific self-seeder, from the same family as Gaura lindheimeri which we've frequently used to brighten up dry and inhospitable places.
 

I love this plant for the fact that its stems are tinged with red, whilst the saucer-shaped blooms fade to orange.  When fully open, both petals and stamens are a pure lemony yellow which really glow at dusk. 

In another garden we've used it as underplanting for a date palm, in a hot sunny position where there was very little soil, but it does equally well in semi-shade.  The flowers are delicately scented.

I might have mentioned that we arrived from England some ten years ago with a small garden already planted up in pots.  It wasn't deliberate but there was space in the removal van and the chaps were happy to load up a few shrubs and other containers from our old garden in Hampshire.  Most of the plants have thrived, including one little cerinthe seedling which has since spread itself throughout several gardens in the Charente Maritime! 

Cerinthe major

Every spring I pull out handfuls from the front bed where it's particularly well-established, but there's something about its glaucous curving stems that makes me leave a few specimens to contrast with dark tulips and Californian poppies, as seen here.  Bees seem to like it even though the flowers are rather well hidden.

And talking of bees, I have to nominate Deutzia as my shrub of the moment because it's absolutely 'clappered' in flowers (as Christina would say) and I should think there are at least 50 bees and hoverflies buzzing around it at any one time. 



Deutzia x magnificum




Close-up of blooms



What it lacks in scent, it makes up for in its graceful arching habit.  We cut down the euphorbias growing underneath so that nothing would detract from its moment of glory!

In the surrounding countryside this blossoming is echoed in swags of elderflowers down the lanes and white clouds of hedge bedstraw in the verges... their scent fills the air along with mown hay from the fields, evoking memories of childhood and damp summers in England.

Hedge Bedstraw & Scabious

It's a testament to how much rain has fallen in recent months that we're enjoying all this extra flowering.  Normally there would be just the odd pocket of Hedge Bedstraw (Galium molugo), which is a type of woodruff producing tiny sprays of white flowers, scented like honey, that eventually turn into small sticky burrs.

On a recent visit to Bordeaux at the end of May, we came across this municipal planting made up of hot, mounded colours which look so effective in bright light.  I didn't have a chance for close inspection but I think that wallflowers made up the orange sections - no doubt I'll be on the lookout for seeds we can grow ourselves!

A 'massif' in the Parc Bordeaux!







Still 'Springing' ?



First leaves on a walnut tree

We've reached a point in nature's cycle when I'm unsure whether this is 'late Spring' or 'early Summer'...?  In our south-facing garden it's definitely the latter, and there have been plenty of swimmers at the beach already, celebrating half-term break; but if you're waking up to a north-east wind, it can still feel like a fresh Spring day. 

Most of our trees are now in leaf and/or in flower, with walnut being one of the last to come out.  Its exquisite coppery leaves and trailing catkins would lend themselves to a Chinese brush painting as they catch the morning light, delicately threaded with spiders' silk. 

Lemon-scented iris

 
Early this morning I cycled down our back lane to collect some fresh nettles from the woodland edge where they grow in damp soil.  I noticed that on one side of the lane the marshland ditches were dotted with yellow flag iris.  They reminded me of the fabulous cultivated iris, given to us by a French gardening friend who was passionate about collecting different colours.  Until we grew some of these ourselves, I'd never realised how subtly scented they are - yellow varieties, in particular, have a real citrusy tang.

Anyway, my reason for braving the nettle patch (with secateurs and a sturdy pair of gloves) was to make up a brew of 'nettle tea' to use as fertiliser for the container plants.  The nettles haven't yet flowered, so I picked about twenty stems and stuffed them into a plastic bag, still managing to sting my wrist which wasn't covered!  I was accompanied in this chore by a pair of nightingales singing to each other lustily from the depths of a nearby copse. 

Early vines

On my way home I passed a vineyard where the grapevines were also coming into leaf.  I love to watch their sculpted leaves unfurl, revealing downy buds tinged with pink in which you can almost discern bunches of grapes in miniature.

But my mission was to brew nettles not wine!  My method is to put leaves and stems into an old galvanised watering can, fill it up with water and cover the opening to keep heat inside.  The air temperature is warm enough now to make this brew ferment within a few days... it bubbles a little, smells fairly rank, but produces a soupy green liquid which can then be further diluted with water and used as a regular feed.

All you need for a nitrogen feed

I use a metal can to make and store the juice, but then pour about a quarter of the liquid into a normal plastic can and fill it up with water.  Top Tip - don't try watering with the rose on because its holes will soon get clogged up with bits of decomposing nettle!

My picture shows a bunch of fresh nettles on the right and  remains of the last brew on the left, destined for the compost heap.  I use it to feed most of our container shrubs, like Pieris and Camelia which have been doing a lot of work recently; also for the bamboo planted in a trough, which is throwing up new shoots and acts as a useful screen between us and the neighbour's upstairs window.

Viburnum opulus

Another star shrub of this season is Viburnum opulus - the 'snowball tree' - which is covered in perfect white blooms, some the size of tennis balls.  After a recent shower, it was positively swooning with the added weight of rainwater and I had to gently shake some moisture off its spindly arms.  (Many shrubs flower so freely that they end up breaking their own branches!)

But, I have to admit, this primadonna has now been trumped by our friend Ruth's magnificent viburnum 'Wedding Cake' (as we call it) which is one of those tiered confections with long-lasting pure white flowers, a bit like a lacecap hydrangea.  It really is a show-stopper and the canopy is now wide enough to hide her two naughty terriers!

Viburnum plicatum tomentosum

Many French gardens have at least one mauve or purple-flowering lilac, some of them bearing double or treble blooms which look really ebullient, and quite often you glimpse the slightly more vivid colour of a Judas tree, which can flower all the way along its naked branches - a somewhat strange effect, particularly if the tree hasn't been pruned carefully.

Cercis siliquastrum

I wasn't familiar with the Judas tree until we came here, although I think you can grow it in the south of England; it's much more popular in North America where it's known as Redbud.  To me, the colour is more magenta than red and looks good in association with a white flowering tree which helps to tone it down a bit.

All over the country brocantes are in full-swing now.  These are village flea-markets, usually held on Sundays or bank holidays, where you can bargain for interesting bits and pieces to adorn your house or garden.

Whether it's those galvanised watering cans (which weigh a ton even when empty) or an elegant étagère, there's usually some kind of container or artefact which can bring the essence of French 'rustique' to your garden.

Wooden 'brouette' showcasing auricula pots!

Terracotta and Stone

The first of those typically French iris comes into flower

At the end of winter most of us have a number of empty pots to play with, and many of those lovely terracotta ones will have been damaged by frost.  It's worth remembering that flower pots don't necessarily have to be planted-up in order to look attractive.  The above scene shows how a casual arrangement of unused - or even broken - pots can add to the 'Greek island' atmosphere on a small terrace. 

Don't despair if your favourite piece of terracotta develops a life-threatening crack after getting wet and then frozen in winter.  We've restored several of ours with Araldite glue, carefully holding the pieces together with a wire noose - which you can just about make out on the rim of this old pot below.  

And planters don't necessarily have to be filled with annuals, which can demand a lot of watering and dead-heading. 



Pots soften hard edges of terraces

Experiment with perennials from your garden, using violas instead of pansies, nemesia instead of lobelia, mixing them with various herbs and bulbs, which won't demand too much water.  In this way plants and containers will look more natural and in keeping with the general landscape. 

Edging plants like nemesia (here on the right) can be considered perennials in our climate.  This pale pink one was bought in England years ago and has a strong vanilla aroma which really comes out on a hot terrace.   I've divided it many times and used it in different areas of the garden as it flowers from April and continues through the summer, withstanding a fair bit of drought like so many plants which originally came from South Africa.

Useful ground-cover in a hot climate

Dark tulips make a dramatic contrast against the pastel flowers of nemesia or, as shown here, amongst a bed of creeping thyme.

Rooted pieces of thyme were given to us by a gardening friend and its leaves can be used with feta cheese to make an authentic-tasting Greek salad.  Here, it has provided a growing carpet of neat green foliage and lilac blooms under a mulberry tree where the soil is particularly dry.

Coronilla valentina glauca with Lamium maculata

Another useful ground-cover for shady areas is the spotted deadnettle, with those attractive silvered leaves, used here as underplanting for a coronilla bush.  They tend to flower at the same time and complement one another perfectly.  Some people find the strong honeyed scent of coronilla makes them sneeze... in smell and colour the flowers are similar to those of rapeseed. 

Although it can be short-lived and rather straggly in habit, coronilla is easy to grow in those shady, dryish areas under trees which are otherwise difficult to fill.  You can cut it back quite hard after flowering, and don't worry about killing the plant because it will have generously left a few seedlings nearby!

On warm days, our meadows throb with the sound of crickets and marshland echoes with the calls of amorous frogs.  Insects abound and with them come the predators.

The exotic hoopoe

We spotted a hoopoe high up in our ash tree, closely followed by a wryneck which almost drives you mad with its loud, repetitive call.  Behind the shutters on our cottage is a small colony of bats - probably pipistrelle - which we try not to disturb.  Apart from the fact that they're protected, I'm sure they're useful mosquito-eaters!

Lastly, on the subject of terracotta, we came across an irresistable 'job lot' of small pots at a brocante, in the days before we realised how impractical they would be in summer. 

Primula auricula Mixed Hybrids

I grew some auriculas from a mixed packet of seeds and we planted them up in some of the pots, top-dressing them with grit to conserve as much moisture as possible. 

They're kept on the shady side of the garden, aranged on an étagère (another brocante purchase) and look pretty at this time of year when the afternoon sun hits them.  They cope well with hot and cold weather, as long as they're potted in a free-draining compost, and don't seem to attract snails or other pests.


Other plants which could be used in this way would be succulents such as sedum or sempervivum.

Hot Flushes

Take time to sit out and enjoy your garden!

Relax... it's easier said than done now that everything is growing apace.  Hard to find time for picking a few flowers to decorate the lunch table, even though we have more than enough blooms to spare and vases that sit in cupboards rarely seeing the light of day.

Even the above picture is 'contrived', insofar as we had to come up with a new shot for the lettings website and needed to make the table look more colourful.  But, I'm glad we took a few moments because acid green and mauve complement each another so well.



Lunaria rediviva



It's funny how each year certain wild plants tend to predominate, according to how their seeds have been distributed and what kind of weather prevails.

This time it's definitely the turn of honesty, which has seeded itself in various (cooler) places around the back garden but also chose quite a 'hot spot' here next to the euphorbia.  They look fabulous with the afternoon light shining through them.

In addition to tall clumps of honesty, our wet winter has also led to a lot more cowslips along the verges... gosh, it almost looks like England! 

Brunnera macrophylla 'Variegata'

In shadier parts of the garden it's still early spring and another happy combination is provided by a brunnera which is flowering next to a stately Helleborus foetidus. 


Although it wouldn't have been my first choice, I've come to love this brunnera which was given to us by a gardening friend.  It has the double attraction of silvery green leaves overlaid with delicate sprays of blue flowers. 


The flowers are slightly smaller than those of the myosotis scattered around it and, once they've finished, those variegated leaves actually provide even more interest.  Unlike many of our other perennials, brunnera stays compact and doesn't seed itself all over the garden.  Altogether trouble-free.

Ranunculus fluitans

For those who read my earlier post concerning the possible invasion of our local ponds by water hawthorn, I'm thrilled to report that after extensive research on Google Image - so useful - I've come to the conclusion it's actually something called water crowfoot, an altogether more delicate member of the buttercup family.

We found it growing in a dewpond over the road and got close enough to see the individual flowerheads - 5 petals with a golden centre.  Instead of being a menace, it's a sign of clean water apparently; but I've yet to find mention of its exquisite scent.

Elsewhere on the marais, reed beds are filling out and providing nest sites for various birds, whilst bulrushes are starting to explode with seeds.  I once made the mistake of bringing some home and leaving them in a pot in the garden... thank goodness I didn't actually bring them indoors.  When they let go of their seeds it's as if someone has had a fight with a kapok pillow - fluff flying all over the place! 

In the space of a week, those hillsides which were lined with snowy blackthorn blossom are now edged with the even whiter blooms of wild cherry (Prunus avium), interspersed with the creamier guelder rose (Viburnum opulus).

As gardeners, we can't help being interested in what's going on in the landscape all around us.  In this climate particularly, our scenery changes on an almost daily basis as warm air and bright sunlight encourage flowers to bloom and fade quickly, leaves to unfurl, catkins to drop.  Each day is to be relished for its unique qualities.

And whilst our gardens are carefully tended, it's also important to have some 'wildings' like honesty and forget-me-not to take up residence where they please.  We're cottage gardeners at heart and like nothing better to see things growing in a natural fashion, filling in spaces (nature abhors a vacuum...), adding some vibrant colour and scenting the air with ephemeral perfume.

One plant does all three and is well worth growing from seed in autumn - the humble wallflower.  Last year I planted up our sunny front verge with some seedlings, cursing the fact that it was a mixed packet and I couldn't tell which particular colours would emerge.  Somehow, they all managed to be slightly different but equally stunning, in sight and scent.  So my advice would be - 'Grab yourself a packet this summer' !

Cheiranthus cheiri 'Persian Carpet'

Wild Things



Vineyard near St Seurin d'Uzet

 Well the sun might be warm and the sky might be blue, but that old north wind is still blowing cold and our 'blackthorn winter' is very much in evidence.  The top picture is pretty typical of our region: undulating hills of limestone, some of which are ploughed for crops like spring wheat, and many of which are laid to vines for making wine and pineau.

Fields that were soggy and black with mud last month have now been scoured white by this wind... some days the air around us seems dusted by chalk blown off the hills.  I can't take a walk without reaching for my camera to try and capture the changing light.



Storks produce up to 3 chicks in April



Yesterday we went to a nearby salt marsh in search of avocets.  We'd seen some on a pond last March, but this time the lakes were being disturbed by hunters with dogs looking for wildfowl.  Instead we were rewarded by the sight of a couple of storks on a platform, waiting patiently for their eggs to hatch.

Getting out of the car near one of these ponds, we were struck by the heady scent of something unusually sweet in this bare landscape of reeds and blackthorn bushes. 

The nearest pond appeared to be covered in a snowy mass of blooms, piled up at the edges like real snow.  Could this be water hyacinth, one of the most invasive species in warmer climes..?

Heavenly-scented and not a bird in sight

We couldn't get close enough to photograph the individual flowers but I have to say the overall effect was lovely, especially with that fabulous perfume!

The marshland or marais is criss-crossed with drainage channels which have been invaded by another 'foreign' species - the coypu or ragondin, which is considered a pest because its nesting habits destroy the riverbanks.  This time of year you often come across a little family out for a swim, enjoying the spring sunshine and blissfully unaware of the traps which may await them. 

Not unlike 'Ratty' but with big front teeth!

What does all this talk of pests have to do with gardening you might wonder?  Well, it takes time to appreciate that plants which might need careful nurturing in the UK sometimes turn into rampaging thugs when let loose in this climate.  (I'm sure I'll gradually compile a long list as this blog develops...)

Meanwhile, my current preoccupation with rampant garden weeds has received a timely reminder that these are just 'flowers in the wrong place' and shouldn't be wholly disparaged.

Vines are carefully pruned during the winter months

During a rare spell of sunshine, we came across vineyards that were striped yellow with a thick crop of Smooth Hawksbeard - much prettier and less thuggish than the dandelions in my lawn.

Hawksbeard mixed with Star of Bethlehem

Mingled amongst them were dark blue muscari neglectum and a few wild marigolds, which have been flowering all through winter.  Vineyards, generally, are a great place for wild things in spite of weed-killers and the spraying of Bordeaux mix. 

In fact, my book tells me that Grape Hyacinths were once ubiquitous in vineyards but have tended to die out because the ground is ploughed much deeper these days.  (Well, well - and there was me thinking the term 'grape' referred to the shape of their flowers!)

I must say that writing this blog, as opposed to just keeping a personal gardening diary, has prompted me to look up plants and check my references before committing the words to print.  I'm sure I'll still make mistakes but at least I'm learning some new things in the process.  (It's also a great way of keeping my hands occupied when it's too cold or wet to be outside... )

Creeping Colour



Tulipa Clusiana 'Lady Jane'

After the early splashes of colour provided by crocus, and those dark velvety anemones de Caen, it's refreshing to see the petals of these bright tulips opening up to the March sunshine.  I ordered some bulbs three years ago from a Dutch supplier and more or less chucked them down in different corners of the south-facing garden, where they have quickly naturalised.

Tulipa Kaufmanniana 'Ice Stick'

These species tulips are particuarly wiry and slender but not at all self-effacing.  They look quite demure when closed... but as they open you become aware of that brash painted stripe on the outer petal. 

Once fully open to the sun, you get the 'poached egg' effect of a rich yellow throat intensified by yellow stamens curled within.

 

You can see why they're sometimes referred to as the 'waterlily' type of tulip.

Tulipa Clusiana comes out a couple of weeks later and is even more delicate, its yellow interior speckled with dark brown stamens.

Being small but perfectly-formed, these early tulips have less foliage to worry about and give way gracefully to later perennials.  According to the bulb growers, they should flower in March to April in the south of England (though possibly not this year...)

Less striking but equally welcome are the flowers of Narcissus 'Sailboat', which open early and form a natural-looking group under the olive tree.  

Its petals are slightly reflexed and, again, there's little in the way of foliage to die down afterwards.   Nature provides a profusion of blooms in this climate, but once the sun comes out they soon begin to wither and there's nothing worse than having to look at a tangle of brown leaves, being slowly devoured by snails!

My aubretia bank has nearly come into full-flower now and is certainly doing its job of hiding a slope of unsightly rock and broken tile. 

In the top left of picture you can just see part of the pathway of oyster shells that we laid down over a weed-suppressing membrane. 

There’s a nearby beach on the Gironde Estuary where these empty shells tend to accumulate in piles, washed clean by countless tides; we discovered they’re ideal as ‘top-dressing’ for paths or used as a mulch around trees!  

Spring is really gathering pace now, I’m glad to say, and fat bumblebees are chasing one another from pieris to mahonia – the latter’s flowers are as sweetly-scented as freesias.

Last week we heard our first cuckoo and glimpsed the newly-arrived hoopoes, with their unmistakable crests and undulating woodpecker flight. 

The blackcap is back on our bird table, fighting off competition from great tits and sparrows, and swallows are once more ducking and diving over fields and ponds.

Although our climate is generally about 10 degrees warmer than southern England, I reckon we track the UK weather quite closely as we’re equally influenced by the jet stream.  Hence we’ve had a very wet winter and spring has come about 10 days later than normal, judging by the return of swallows and so forth.

Temperatures continue to be depressed by the north-easterly wind but overall there’s more sunshine than in England, so our soil is warmer and things like peas and beans are already flourishing.  At least our strong coastal winds provide one benefit in drying the soil more quickly so local farmers have been able to get on with their ploughing. 

And it won’t be long before the vines are bursting into life once more!

Clouds of Blossom

Why do we get such mad weather in March, just as the fruit trees break into blossom?  The past two weeks we've had howling gusts of wind, lashing rain, a bit of hail and some blinding sunshine... you have to be adaptable to survive the combined onslaught!



Almond (prunus dulcis)



Almond blossom is the first to break out, sometimes as early as February, giving the insects something to buzz about.  Our tree is about three years old now and we should be able to harvest a small bag of nuts this year. 

Collecting almonds is quite labour-intensive, so I can understand why they're relatively expensive to buy.  But it's lovely to hull them in the garden and eat the nuts when they're still soft and sweet.

Next to come out, trained against a south-facing wall, is the apricot seen here with almost an embarassment of blossom!  Last year it resulted in equally dense clusters of fruit which ripened in July and some of those are still in freezer bags waiting to take their place in a tarte. 

Apricot (prunus armeniaca)

The ever-helpful internet tells us that the name 'apricot' comes from the Latin word praecox, which means 'early ripening'.  

Looking at these pictures, I notice that their flowers are not dissimilar to those of the almond - white with a dark red centre.  (Just how many types of prunus are there, I wonder...?) 

Peach trees are also flowering now and their blossom is a delicate pink.  Our main tree is dying of some disease... it put on a great show last Spring but was finally a victim of its own success, the weight of fruit bringing down a couple of big branches.

I'm afraid we get so excited at the prospect of all this exotic fruit that we don't take the sensible precaution of thinning it out.  This would be kinder to the tree and probably result in larger, sweeter fruit!

Hillsides around here are bedecked with prunus spinosa, the spiny shrub which produces clouds of white blossom - sometimes known as 'blackthorn winter' when it coincides with a cold snap.  This is another prunus which seems to do exceptionally well in our mild climate, producing thick creamy swathes of blossom along the hedgerows.  In late Summer, these same hedges glow with abundant blue sloes.



A cultivated hedge of viburnum tinus and wild prunus spinosa



Viburnum tinus, also in full-flower now, is frequently used in gardens where it's useful as a slow-growing evergreen hedge that doesn't need too much pruning but produces many more flowers than you would see in England.  The example above has been left to do its own kind of 'cloud pruning'...!





Prunus 'Kojo no mai'

This little prunus hybrid came with us from England where I'd had it in a pot decorating the terrace.  It must be almost 20 years old now and has got its roots well established in the chalky subsoil of our coastal garden.  Its little flowers remind me of scattered confetti in the low evening light.

Another good shrub which arrived with us from Hampshire was this pieris 'Forest Flame' which puts on a lively show of red leaves and creamy flowers for weeks on end.  It attracts the fluffiest bumblebees you've ever seen and great tits like to linger on its branches as they queue up for fat-balls on our nearby bird table.